Chapter - 302
Rick lowered his boot, which was currently grinding a mixture of wet shipyard gravel and industrial soot into a rug that probably cost more than the entire Morningstar Motel. He looked at the pattern—intricate silk weaving, deep crimsons and golds—and then at the muddy footprint he'd just left on it.
"My apologies," Rick said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous penthouse. "I usually wipe my feet, but your elevator didn't have a mat. Just six guys with machine guns. We made a mess."
Marnus Warner sat on the white leather couch like a king on a throne, his legs crossed, a crystal flute of champagne resting casually in his hand. He didn't look at the rug. He looked at Rick, then at Sharon, his expression one of mild, detached amusement, as if he were watching a reality show contestant try to solve a puzzle they were clearly too stupid to understand.
